


The Sugar Mentality

by ShamelesslyPoetic



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff ALL the fluff, Logince - Freeform, M/M, Roman burns stuff with his grade a hotness, in love idiots, light make out at the end, moxiety - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShamelesslyPoetic/pseuds/ShamelesslyPoetic
Summary: Virgil doesn’t like sweets. Patton will simply not stand for it. Shenanigans ensue as Roman and Logan make bedroom eyes at each other in the background.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	The Sugar Mentality

**Author's Note:**

> So it goes ladies, gents and enb pals! That it's 5 am and I've decided to post this!  
> Huge thank you to @ace-corvid on Tumblr and ao3 for beta reading this, they're a life saver and their edits were very very much appreciated!  
> Also thank you to my qpp and treasure @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies for her continued support. Love ya, my Ruby!

Mm. Bliss.

Laying on the sun-warmed couch feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, Patton settled fully beside his very own personal cuddle partner. Except Virgil was much more than that; Virgil was his boyfriend. Through relentless waves of emotions, countless brief glances and a thousand smiles exchanged across the rooms, it was finally true. 

Patton marveled at the word ‘boyfriend’, letting it roll pleasantly around in his head. He was enjoying a cup of hot chocolate laden with marshmallows, reveling in Virgil’s warmth, taking in the fruity shampoo he used to wake himself up in the mornings, and another smoky smell Patton couldn’t quite place. He took a sip of his drink as Virgil went on with a ramble about My Chemical Romance’s music that Patton had long since lost track of, absorbed by Virgil’s eyes, his bangs, his fingers, his everything. Just, him, in all his glory. 

Virgil, without missing a bit, twirled an imaginary mustache and Patton licked the cream away from his own upper lip. 

To mask that he hadn’t been paying undivided attention to his shadowy but angelic songbird, Patton pressed the rim of his mug to Virgil’s mouth, offering him some of the chocolatey goodness.  
  
“No thanks,” Virgil’s nose scrunched up—more often than not an adorable expression that Patton held as dear as any of Virgil’s faces. But this time he leaned his head back slightly too. “I don’t like marshmallows.”  
  
A blanket of silence draped across them as Patton’s heart sank to his stomach in shock.  
  
Virgil, ever fine-tuned to the signs of distress, asked, “Pat? Are you—?”   
  
“But, but how can you not like marshmallows?” 

Patton gave his boyfriend a doe-eyed, incredulous stare as he propped himself up on his elbows, practically sprawled across the anxious side’s lank form. They were flush from chest to knee. 

Virgil’s face relaxed into a fond smile, moving the hair out of Patton’s face with just three of his fingers, feather light as he brushed the stray strands back from the slope of Patton’s freckled forehead. Tentative, despite the fact they’d just been cuddling on the couch with cat videos on Virgil’s phone. Patton wondered how Virgil could be so open, full of affection, and adoration in certain situations, yet so hesitant and closed off in others. 

A clear example of the anxious side’s shyness presented itself in the way Virgil barely let himself touch Patton’s skin as he spoke, “I don’t know, Pat, I just never found them particularly tasty.” His eyes averted away as he fiddled with his fingers. Patton took his hand and gently traced his fingertips along Virgil’s knuckles, urging him to breathe out the tension. “They’re too sweet, sugary enough to turn bitter. And their texture’s kinda all wrong.”  
  
“Does that mean you’ve never tried them?”  
  
“No, I have!” Virgil chuckled. “I just wasn’t keen.”  
  
“Wh-What about other sweets?” Patton tried desperately, grabbing Virgil’s hand with a pleading look. “Chocolate! Cotton candy! _Cookies_ !”  
  
“I’m sorry, babe.” He didn’t sound very sorry, and the glint in his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together would _not_ distract Patton from his question. “I can only handle so much sugar in my life with you here. You’re an overwhelming sweetness I’m far more willing to bear though.”  
  
The little sparks fizzling in Patton’s stomach as Virgil leaned in for a kiss _certainly_ distracted him. Their noses brushed first and then Virgil’s teasing smile dropped. He let out a short breath that warmed Patton from his lips to his shoulders and spread down his back in twinkling tingles. The contact was slow and sweet, Virgil’s lips like melted chocolate sliding against Patton’s mouth. 

Virgil shifted slightly, lacing his fingers with Patton’s and bringing his other hand to cup the side of his face. A slab of vanilla sunlight shined across Patton’s eyes and he opened them through a haze of delight to meet the warm caramel brown of Virgil’s. Then and there, he decided Virgil would grow to like sweets at any cost. Patton would make cakes and cookies and doughnuts and bring out all of his best cookbooks. Immediately. 

Virgil let out a deep throaty noise, not unlike a purr, followed by a low whine as Patton drew back. 

After he found a way off this couch then. Out of Virgil’s arms, out of his mind that screamed it didn’t want to have to move its body, out of this gumdrop sweet adoration. 

Giving tender touches to show all his clumsy words couldn’t do justice, Patton completely fell into strong, grounded eyes and Virgil’s kisses and Virgil’s voice and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.  
  
  


A few hours later, once Virgil had had his fill of snuggles (for the time being), found Patton in the sunlit kitchen wearing his favorite polka patterned apron. His eyes roved over the counter with an indecisive frown. The flour, eggs, butter and sugar rudely neglected to transform into delicious cookies that would fill the mindscape with a warm aroma sure to lure Virgil out of his room. Patton forgave them, shifting his gaze to his cookbook and skimming the words.  
  
“Patton,” Logan’s voice jolted the moral side awake, hands safely clasped around the heavy book to keep it from falling. “Would you be so kind as to remind me why Roman and I are here?”  
  
What he meant to say was, Patton belatedly realized: My room’s door was locked and we were making out, how dare you interrupt us for such silly displays!  
  
“To help me bake these cookies, of course!” Patton explained as he took the book from Logan. The moral side’s arms stooped under the weight, wiggling like overcooked noodles as he hefted it onto the counter with a puff of flour. “Hey, Lo, do you think milk chocolate would be better for this recipe?”  
  
“You’ve never asked before, Padre,” said a still flushed Roman. His mouth had a ‘just punched’ look like he’d unevenly smeared lipstick across his face and since Roman’s make up applying skills were top notch, Patton couldn’t help but be a teeny tiny bit embarrassed as their gazes met. “What gives?”  
  
“These have to be perfect,” Patton explained, hot to the tips of his ears. “They’re for Virgil!”  
  
Roman’s tune changed into a passionate flurry immediately, his eyes lighting up. “Ah, I see, an endeavor of the heart!”  
  
“I thought,” Logan interrupted, tone reserved. God, he could be scary sometimes, “you said on May 24th, seven weeks, four hours and thirty two minutes ago that any food will automatically be good if done with love and care.” There was an expectant pause. “And a dash of sugar,” Logan relented.

Patton turned to Roman for assistance, who’s lidded eyes took a moment before opening long enough to scold Logan instead of continuing to admire the logical side. “My love! These aren’t just any old cookies! Our Padre has asked for assistance in his quest to woo Surly Temple! We must deliver!”  
  
“Well, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s assistance,” said Logan.  
  
“A little vague, my dearest nerd.”  
  
“Feel free to take the words out of my mouth and twist them on your tongue any time, my halfwit.”  
  
Patton cleared his throat. Logan staggered back as gracefully as one could, having unknowingly taken a few steps towards Roman. He blushed as he adjusted his neck tie. 

Roman grinned proudly before sashaying towards Patton, hands eagerly clasping together. “Let the baking commence!”

A disaster, Logan called it; a marvelous attempt at baking done in the fashion only a true prince could achieve, Roman retorted. However much Patton wanted to encourage Roman though, the first batch of cookies came out lumps of coal that Roman slathered with icing and cream to mask the...overwhelmingly wonderful taste.  
  
“Perhaps it was a bad idea letting Roman be in charge of taking the tray out.”  
  
Patton went about doing chores and Logan needed to answer Thomas’ call. Who else could Patton have asked?  
  
Fixing his gaze on Roman, Logan continued, “Especially since he doesn’t have much finesse when handling heat.”  
  
Patton couldn’t help but notice the hint at an inside joke even as Logan’s wryness only invited a ghost of a smile to his features.  
  
“I do, thank you very much!” Roman managed to say through his offended princey noises. Which were louder than usual…for some reason? “I only burned them because I’m hot as heck.”  
  
Logan shook his head. Patton’s next words withered on his lips as Virgil came rushing down the stairs. “Guys! I smelled smoke! What’s happening?” 

Catching sight of the tray, he stopped short and stared. His shoulders dropped from their tense line, fists eased open as his face became lax, then confused.  
  
No, Logan had been right. It _was_ a very bad idea leaving it up to Roman.  
  
“Finding Emo! Huzzah!” Roman said. Why did he look so happy? “These fiends have put down my stupendous work. Would you mind taking a bite and disproving their drivel?”  
  
Virgil gave Roman an unimpressed look. Thank goodness.   
  
“Sure, whatever.”  
  
Wait, what was that? Why was Virgil reaching for the white-painted black bricks?  
  
Patton tried to say something as Virgil popped a ‘cookie’ into his mouth but found he couldn’t. He waited for Virgil to spit it out, to grimace, to scrunch his nose up, or to do _anything_. Instead, Virgil inhaled sharply, swallowing. 

His eyes didn’t waver as he brushed off crumbs from his lips.  
  
“Mm,” he hummed. “These are actually really good, Princey. You makin’ more?”  
  
For a moment, they all thought his usual sarcasm took over in such crucially called-for situations, but then he reached for another one and they all looked on in horror. Even Roman.  
  
Virgil’s chewing sent a crunch-crunch like gravel rumbling through the kitchen. His eyes slid between their faces as he swallowed. “What?”

Instead of luring Virgil out with the aroma of cookies as planned, Patton had to go get the anxious side and resist the invitation for cuddles Virgil made. Red faced and mildly tired from kneading the dough, he longed for the embrace more than ever, but as his situation deemed it necessary, he ushered Virgil down the stairs, placing him in front of the dining table. A fresh batch full of chocolate chips with golden honey glaze waited for him.  
  
“Oh,” Virgil breathed, eyeing the tray uncertainly. “These look really nice. Just kinda...too sugary?”  
  
Roman snorted, reaching for one after the long wait where Patton had to repeatedly swat his hands away from the raw dough. “Just try it, Gerard Gay.”  
  
Under their expectant gazes, Virgil ambled towards the sweets, almost sheepish as he took a bite. He winced, though it was evident he’d tried not to.   
  
“These are…lovely, Pat,” Virgil said, smiling a smile absent from his eyes. “But I think the chocolate is a bit much so I’ll pass, thanks.”  
  
Patton slumped, a tiny niggle of disappointment zinging through him. He quickly shoved it down. He wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t even started yet. No tree falls from the first blow, after all. Even if Morality didn’t favour cutting down trees in the first place.  
  
Logan looked up from his book, wide-eyed as Roman spluttered, “But, how can you not like chocolate?”

From then on it was a series of trials and errors, ending mostly in the same way the first event had. 

The following endeavour was Project Cotton Candy. Patton wanted to give Virgil the full carnival experience complete with the delicate spun sugar melting on your tongue as soon as it entered your mouth. He had Roman arrange a date in the mindscape in exchange for two coconut cream pies. 

And by the sweet pasta, he’d delivered. 

The creative side perfected the weather into a cloudy, airy atmosphere that sent a soft breeze into Virgil’s hair and as Patton took him from one ride to another, the Ferris wheel lights reflected rainbows in Virgil’s eyes. Patton found neither of them could stop smiling. Until.

“Pat, this date to the mind carnival is amazing, really,” Virgil said, squeezing Patton’s unoccupied hand. “I couldn’t be having more fun.” He glanced down at the cone of cotton candy in Patton’s other hand. “But, I don’t want the cotton candy. Can we go on the dark train again?”

The next morning, Patton managed to rouse himself out of bed and be rid of yesterday’s roller coaster nausea before Virgil could wake up. A cake with chocolate frosting, blueberries and all sorts of decorations stood proudly in the kitchen not two hours later with Roman’s swirly ‘Happy Birthday, Virgil!’ written in icing on the top. In stunning script, Roman repeatedly pointed out.

“Pat, my birthday’s in December.”  
  
That was right. Just a tiny oversight on the creative and moral sides’ parts.   
  
But at least Virgil took a slice and didn’t grimace like a lemon had been shoved down his throat.

“Pat, I’m sorry,” Virgil said to the weekend’s macaroons, eyes on them instead of Patton’s sugar-dusted face. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”  
  
“Pat!” Virgil said on one morning’s breakfast table. “I don’t want the waffles, honestly!” He dumped his round, perfectly golden circles onto Roman’s plate. “Let Roman have them.”  
  


For the most part, Patton didn’t mind. The food, never wasted, was happily gobbled up by anyone close enough. Patton loved making the sweets anyway but the question of how Virgil could stand for this sort of happiness to be left unshared still baffled him. 

Patton sank into the couch, tummy hurting from all the waffles he’d eaten to compensate for the stupidly hollow feeling in his stomach. The toasted, buttery circles didn’t taste like they usually did, as if a plate of water had been dumped over the top and dried by the time Patton took a bite.  
  
After a while, Virgil had caught on to his game. Patton had seen suspicions dance in that pretty head of his but only smiled over his food all the while. Patton was no quitter after all. He would keep persevering like Roman on his quests, like Logan nearing his deadlines, like someone trying to make his boyfriend happier.  
  
Virgil wandered into the living room as if breaching past unregulated territory, voice scratchy and barely audible. “Pat? Are you mad at me?”  
  
“No, of course not, kiddo!” It was, even in Patton’s opinion, unseemly that he called Virgil ‘kiddo’ when they’d made out for a lengthy period of time not a day before and he shook his head, going on, “I just thought—”  
  
“Oh, thank Brendon Urie!” Virgil cut him off with a relieved sigh. “Every time you came up with another one I thought you were gonna give up on me altogether.”  
  
“What?” Patton propped himself up, the words flicking him on the raw. “Virgil, sweetheart, of course not. I love you.”  
  
“I know. I love you too.” A subtle difference in the lilt of Virgil’s voice, even as he lowered it on those magical three words, told Patton he meant it _that way._ His tone shifted into one of worry immediately after, fingers knotting with reckless abandon. “But you’ve been working so hard on ‘em I felt kinda a lot bad.”

“It’s nothing a few cuddles can’t fix,” Patton soothed, patting the space next to him on the couch.  
  
“Look at you, so cute…” Virgil muttered, almost absently. “Now how can I say no to this?”  
  
“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY NO TO THIS!” Roman trilled across the living room, bustling overhead and riffing like a stupidly talented moron. “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO HELPLESS, AND HIS BODY’S SAYING HELL YES!”  
  
“Shut up, Princey!” Virgil growled, staring daggers from where he stood. 

Roman’s voice continued in the same tone he’d sang Hamilton in, fading slightly as he made his way to Logan’s room. “To not like sweets! Virgil, you must have forgotten the Earth’s oldest language! The one of skin on skin and wind in trees! Oh, how my heart mourns for your self-inflicted misery!”  
  
Virgil’s jaw clenched and his brows bumped but the scowl softened. Or was that just Patton, unable to see Virgil for anything other than the one he loved and treasured, never feared?  
  
“Shut up or I’m coming over there and pounding you into the ground!”  
  
Roman cooed back, voice distant, “I appreciate the offer but I have a boyfriend.”  
  
A decisive click as Logan’s door room opened and shut guided Virgil down onto the couch’s pillows with a grunt. His face was blushed a deep red, nose flaring slightly from that little argument, lips parted as his breaths came in a hitched in-out in-out.   
  
“I’ll be right back,” Patton whispered as he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s forehead, finding something in Virgil’s high cheekbones and his violet-veiled eyes.  
  
What Roman had said about skin was only vaguely related to the cogs working in Patton’s head, but he was pretty sure this was a brilliant idea. A very non-Patton idea, too. It led him to his stash of spare marshmallows and what remained of the Nutella jar in the pantry. With such ingredients in the mix, this could only be described as sweet.  
  
After lightly garnishing a few marshmallows with some chocolate, Patton appeared in front of Virgil. “Close your eyes!”  
  
Patton’s urgency forced Virgil into a sitting position, weary eyes wandering until they settled on his boyfriend’s hidden hands. “What do you have behind your back?”  
  
“Viiirrge!” Patton whined, not giving himself a chance to start feeling ridiculous. “Close! Your! Eyes!”  
  
Virgil huffed out a confused laugh, but obliged. “Fine, fine.”  
  
“No peeking!” Patton sat back down on the couch. He had no idea what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me.” He draped a thigh across Virgil’s lap in a too casual to be natural move. 

“Babe, is there a point to this or…?”  
  
Patton’s face heated up even more, Logan would say he’d caught glandular fever. His voice broke with rising desperation. “Just do it, please!”  
  
Patton set the chocolate covered marshmallow into his mouth and bent, closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed out and ignored his heart trying to break through his ribcage.   
  
Virgil’s voice came out garbled, “P-Patton, what’re—!”  
  
Too shakily to be gentle, Patton reeled forward, colliding with Virgil in a messy, wet meshing of lips. His rapid breathing steadied as Virgil’s hands found their way to his hips and gripped there. Virgil tensed for the first few moments, bony shoulder digging into Patton’s but he didn’t lean back and sure enough, relaxed, his heart a steady _thump-thump_ reverberating in Patton’s chest.

Patton’s every cell scorched as he pushed his tongue into Virgil’s mouth, the taste of his mint toothpaste and the chocolate and marshmallow overwhelming. This wasn’t quite what he pictured and most of their previous kisses, as they’d decided to take things slow, were soft, hesitant. But this was different. Patton’s body had been locked in a trance ever since the idea lodged itself into his cobbled brain. Even after, the only anchors stopping him from floating in mid-air were Virgil’s lips, Virgil’s hands gliding across his back, Virgil’s hair in his hands like mounds of silk and shuddering breaths and half-giggles, half a delicious sound an entirely different sweetness from the one melting on both their tongues. 

Patton didn’t know the days that had passed or the soreness in hours spent preparing sweets. He didn’t know the birds were twittering outside or that the microwave was beeping far off. He only knew the taste of caramel, milky white where the tips of his fingers roamed. He only knew the cold burn of mint in his lungs and faint traces of chocolate and marshmallow. There was only this, only his body being coaxed onto Virgil’s lap, only the back of his head supported by Virgil’s fingers. Their eyes opened slowly, lips unwilling to part as quivering smiles met in the internim. The two sides stared for a moment, caramel brown into blueberry blue, caught. Patton looked away first, hiding his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and at long last tasting its curve like his own personal lollipop.  
  
Virgil’s hand slipped under Patton’s shirt to his lower back, the touch itself feather light, the press of it heated, eager. “Maybe marshmallows aren’t so bad after all,” Virgil rasped, raising Patton’s face to his level. Patton grinned at him, all smiley and dreamy and happy again, drawing ever so slightly closer. “Can you—?”  
  
Patton didn’t wait long enough to let the anxious side finish his sentence but when he grabbed another marshmallow off the plate Virgil didn’t hesitate to meet him.  
  
“Yes,” Virgil’s lips said against him. “Yes, yes, yes…” Again and again, turning from a whisper to a rasp to something less a word then just one syllable holding for a second and then fading into the air. 

Patton smiled, melting into a relaxed puddle of giggling joy. He’d gotten his wish. It was giddy, the thought. He couldn’t tell how long it had taken in this addled state of mind but as he leaned in again, it was all he could think of. 

The kisses that followed attempted at a proper lock but, interrupted by gentle smiles and bubbling laughter from both sides, only ended in the occasional peck. Patton, through a thudding heart and shaking fingers, couldn’t remember ever being happier. 

Victory is sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to whatever generous souls are willing to entertain my work. Kudos and comments are much appreciated I will love you forever and ever if you comment. I hope the words are treating ya well.  
> Find me @shamelesslypoetic on Tumblr!  
> Kay, stay safe everyone!  
> -Elise


End file.
